Behind the Mask

Clove

Clove certainly wasn’t expecting what had come tonight.

She looked over at Cato’s face, as she tried to soothe him still. She had no idea that such emotion would come out of him. She certainly had no idea she would be comforting him. Clove had never really comforted anyone before. There was no one even there for her to comfort. But Cato reminded her of herself, when she finally figured out that her parents never truly loved her. Clove knew exactly what Cato was going through, and she didn’t want him to feel like this. Ever. She knew how much it hurt.

So the brutal, bloody Cato does have feelings.

Clove searched Cato’s face, and was outright shocked to see his eyes so shiny. She quickly looked away, not wanting to embarrass him. If it were her, she would want the same.

They didn’t necessarily need words. All they needed was the presence of each other, both feeling the same pain, understanding each other. As she rubbed small, soothing circles into his arm, she heard his heaving breaths slow down. Eventually, his head tilted back and the softest snore emitted from his throat.

Clove allowed herself a small, barely-there smile. Cato was a lot different than she thought.

She grabbed some of the other pillows on the plush couch, and arranged them near Cato’s slowly drooping head. She grabbed a blanket off the side, and draped it over his hefty body.

As Clove stood up to go to bed, she glanced down at Cato’s face. He looked so much more peaceful than the Cato she knew at training. The Cato that never stopped, always striving for perfection in the stabs of his deadly swords. The Cato that essentially was a trained killer.

Clove glanced at the clock. 12:03 A.M., it read.

She flitted to her room, and got into bed. She slowly fell asleep, so many different thoughts of Cato swirling in her mind.

The sun was barely coming up when Clove heard the door to her bedroom being opened slowly. Clove was a light sleeper, but it was still early and she was barely awake.

Her eyes drooped closed again, just before someone shook her shoulder lightly.

“Clove, are you awake?” whispered the foreigner. “I thought I saw your eyes open.”

Clove opened her eyes slowly, and staring back at her were the brilliant blue eyes of a hardly-awake Cato.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he whispered, suddenly self-conscious with his behavior.

Clove sat up, taking her time, and leaned back against the bronze headboard. “No, it’s alright; I was getting up soon anyway.”

A brief flash of relief washed over his face before he continued. “I just—I wanted to—can I sit?” Cato pointed to the edge of the bed.

Clove felt the edges of her mouth turn up as Cato stuttered. She nodded yes and he went on.

“I just wanted to apologize for last night. I-I mean—I’m never like that. I just—“ Cato struggled to find the right words, which Clove thought odd for him. She cut him off.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. No one should have to apologize for that. I… I know what it’s like too.” Clove had started out strong, but ended quietly, self-consciously.

What are you doing, Clove? Clove chastised herself. You aren’t supposed to show your feelings. You just get hurt.

Cato gave her a mutedly angry look. “I just can’t believe I was that stupid. I hate them. I hate them so much. They’ve turned me into this.” Cato said, referring to himself. Referring to the ferocious beast that he was with a sword. Sudden realization took over his expression. “That’s what happened to you, isn’t it?” Cato looked at Clove with his brilliant blue eyes.

Even as the war raged on inside of her, Clove felt the words tumbling out of her mouth. “It’s been like that my entire life,” Clove’s voice was barely a whisper. “My parents have only cared about my training, and representing the district in ‘Capitol fashion.’” She lowered her eyes, the internal battle still being fought. “I’ve never… No one has… You’re the only person that knows that. I don’t really have… I’ve never… There’s never been anyone to talk to.” said Clove, her voice faltering. The last time Clove had been this open with someone was with her parents, when she was trying so, so hard to be important to them. Her head was screaming that this was a dreadful idea. But her heart told her that she could trust Cato.

This time it was Cato who had spoke softly. “That’s sort of like me. I’ve never really had very good friends… The only people that I’ve really been ‘friends’ with,” Cato put air-quotes around the word ‘friends.’ “are kids in training. People that have parents like ours. They're brainwashed," he whispered, knowing that that was what happened to him too. "and they only like me because they know how good I am. They know I have potential. Because I’m brutal, bloody Cato, right?” Cato laughed without humor. “And I never, ever thought I’d be spilling my feelings to someone I just formally met a day ago.” Cato looked down, facing Clove with just his eyelids—not the brilliant blue she knew was beneath them.

Clove held in the small gasp threatening to escape her lips. It was like he had read her mind. “Me neither,” she said. “Trust me, me neither.”

They both laughed a little, but the fire was still raging on in their hearts.

“And, by the way,” Cato spoke again, his eyes not meeting hers. “thanks… for last night. For… everything.” His voice was small, hardly believable to be coming out of his mouth, the big brute that he is.

Clove lowered her eyes, too. She felt a slight blush sidle onto her cheeks.

“I knew you were different.” Cato whispered.

Clove snapped her head up. As their eyes met, Clove felt something like an electric current pass between the two of them. Before Clove could even think to say something, Helenia was shouting for Cato in an singsong-y, yet aggressive manner.

He jumped up, and turned to Clove as if to say, We’ll talk later.

As he bounded out of the room in two long strides, Clove was left thinking about the meaning of Cato's words.